


We're Not Friends

by AlexMeg



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, But Harry doesn't know because, But still a snarky lil shit, First Dates, First Kiss, Good Draco Malfoy, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Idiots in Love, M/M, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Oblivious Harry Potter, Pining Draco Malfoy, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, References to Depression, Smitten Draco Malfoy, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-16 14:33:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19320121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexMeg/pseuds/AlexMeg
Summary: In which Draco Malfoy talks Harry Potter into going on a very strange hang-out that starts to shape up to feel more like a date—one of them is going batty here, and Harry's money is on Malfoy—and Harry might be a little bit in love with the no-longer-a-git-git even if he can't admit it to himself.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for triggering content (nothing too severe, but still important that you know, just in case), which readers will be notified of chapter by chapter
> 
> Title is taken from the song 'We're Not Friends' by Ed Sheeran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for descriptions of depression in this chapter
> 
> I don't know if they'd be allowed to leave school grounds, but seeing as they're 18, I'm going to assume they have the freedom after school

"Don't you lot think this is strange?" Harry asked, closely eyeingthe _Draco Malfoy_ dot on the Marauder's Map. He lifted his head to look at his best friends, Ron and Hermione, snuggling with each other across from him. "He didn't show up for any of his classes since two weeks before Christmas holidays." Harry had spent those holidays with the Weasleys, Hermione, Andromeda and Teddy at the Burrow. He knew Malfoy went back to the Manor to spend them with his mother. "He just sits cooped up in his room all day long now. He doesn't even come to the Great Hall to _eat_ anymore."

 

"I thought we were past thinking Malfoy was an evil, scheming git," Ron said, cheek against Hermione's bushy brown hair. She was reading a book while she leaned into his chest.

 

"Not an evil, scheming git," Harry reassured. "But isn't it still strange?"

 

"It is." Ron shrugged. "But I really doubt it's anything to worry about, yeah?"

 

Ron had become quite calm after the war. There were bad days, of course, when the trauma hit him as it hit the rest of them, and he still had nightmares about losing Fred, but mostly, he seemed to have realized the fragility and importance of life and had developed a sort of stability and appreciation and a one-track mind towards it, discarding all unnecessary things, such as his grudge against Malfoy. Hermione and many others seemed to share that mindset with Ron. Harry envied the renewed perspective they had all gained. He felt as if he himself had only grown harder and more bitter rather than grateful after everything, after all that they lost.

 

"Ron's right, Harry," Hermione agreed, glancing up from the book. "He's just minding his own business, you know. I think we should extend him the same courtesy."

 

Harry hadn't spoken with Malfoy since the beginning of the school year. There were occasional, awkward run-ins with one another, nearly bumping into each other in the hallways, but hardly ever any proper conversation.

 

Harry wasn't sure why he'd still been keeping an eye on his ex-nemesis, really. It wasn't even as if he thought Malfoy was up to something wicked anymore. While not someone he would ever trust with a blade behind his back any time soon, he didn't think Malfoy was capable of anything evil anymore. Not after everything. Harry had seen the way he cried in the bathroom to Myrtle, terrified as he told her Voldemort would kill him and his family if he didn't do what he demanded of him, showing his reluctance towards committing the horrible deed so very clearly. Malfoy had refused to identify he and his friends at the Manor, and in return, Harry had saved his life twice, once at the Fiendfyre and then during the Battle from a Death-Eater, and spoken up in his favour at his trial.

 

The only consequence Malfoy got was confiscation of most of their family wealth and to return to Hogwarts as a part of his agreement. His mother was placed on House Arrest under supervision of Aurors.

 

Malfoy's father died in Azkaban.

 

Perhaps Harry had just been somewhat concerned. Actually, Harry _was_ concerned, and he knew that he was disguising much of it in front of his friends behind the 'Malfoy-is-acting-odd' pretense. Malfoy looked even worse than he did in sixth year, sickly and gaunt and quiet, like a ghost treading through the halls of the school. None of his friends, most of the Slytherins in fact, had returned to Hogwarts, so he was mostly seen sitting by himself. No one partnered with him in Potions. Most of the people have stopped paying him much attention by now, perhaps out of boredom or fear of Professor McGonagall's wrath the last time she discovered the perpetrator of a stinging hex that left Malfoy's back black and blue.

 

He hardly seemed to be mentally present in classes, his gaze somewhere far away deep in his own mind, always hazy and lost. Always so lost.

 

Harry hadn't been able to make himself approach him, however. He didn't want to start anything again by pissing him off in any way, which might happen just by Harry making the mistake of trying to speak to him.

 

Hermione sometimes pointed out how sickly and thin and tired he looked, but mostly Harry supposed they were all just relieved at Malfoy's quietness and the lack of impertinence.

 

But while Harry really did find it a lot better to not constantly be on the guard whenever he saw his old childhood rival, it was also just… unsettling, to see him the way he was now.

 

Harry stared at the _Draco_   _Malfoy_ dot, watching as the footsteps moved slightly, and then stilled again.

 

 

…

 

 

On Wednesday, Malfoy showed up for Potions.

 

The billow of relief loosening a knot in Harry's chest, that he hadn't entirely noticed was there, was somewhat jarring and confusing. Harry didn't know what he was so worried about, why Malfoy locking himself up in his dorm room alone had him somewhat strangely anxious, but Harry hadn't even realized just _how_ strangely anxious he had been about it until he saw the familiar, snow-blonde hair and silver eyes again.

 

He was different today. Malfoy.

 

The snow-blonde hair wasn't tousled, as if he couldn't be bothered to comb it. Rather, it was well-kempt as it used to be. There was something different in his silver eyes. He didn't look so haunted and lost and empty. They were still bruised with fatigue, like he hadn't been sleeping. Yet, they were alight, more alive than they had been since the first day of Eighth Year. Harry imagined it had a lot to do with getting to meet his mother.

 

Harry watched him for a moment, sitting alone on his own, an empty chair next to him. He was tugging out his Eighth-Year Potions book from his satchel, thin fingers wrapping around the spine of it.

 

Just as he was about to turn away, he was taken aback when he saw Malfoy's gaze flick up at him, without roving around to search for him. He seemed to know just exactly where Harry was sitting, which might mean he was aware of him and it may not be his first glance. When he caught Harry's eyes, he startled and looked down to his book quickly. Harry narrowed his eyes, puzzled and somewhat wary as well, and then turned his head to the front, towards Professor Slughorn who had just walked in.

 

Why was Malfoy looking at him just now? Why _him_ specifically? Harry knew he had been staring at him too, but _he_ had a reason. What reason could _Malfoy_ have to stare at _him_?

 

Malfoy had hardly raised his gaze from the ground the last couple of months, so this was a change. A good change, Harry supposed, but also a curious one.

 

In Potions, Malfoy worked alone as always. With Ron and Hermione partnering together, Harry paired up with Neville, which turned out to be disastrous as always as they were both disasters when it came to Potions. They had to try two more times after just to get something that resembled what it was meant to. _Somnium_. A teal-coloured sleeping potion. Theirs was a bit more green, but well, Professor Slughorn deemed it passable.

 

The bell rang soon, signalling the end of their class. Harry glanced over at Malfoy, who was quickly gathering up the contents of his satchel and shoving them in. He seemed to be in a bit of a hurry.

 

"Let's go, mate," Ron said with a pat to his shoulder, once he had packed up his things after Hermione. Harry turned away and began to make his way out of the class with his friends.

 

Just as he reached the door, however, he heard a voice calling out his name, forcing him and his friends to halt to an abrupt step. Harry had frozen in shock, his heart skipping as if he'd missed three steps altogether when the owner of it registered in his mind.

 

"Potter!"

 

Harry turned around to see Malfoy running over to him. They hadn't said a word to each other for _months_ , and now Draco Malfoy was coming over to talk to him of his own accord. He must be fucking dreaming. For some reason, his heart was starting to hammer against his chest, even though he had no clue what could have possessed Malfoy to talk to Harry and what was about to happen.

 

Ron had stepped up, shoulder fractionally in front of Harry's in some odd protective stance, which was somewhat confusing because hadn't Ron just implied he'd gotten over his grudge against Malfoy the other day? He supposed, even so, none of them really trusted the bloke.

 

Malfoy had slowed to a stop in front of Harry. He was adjusting the strap of his satchel over his shoulder, looking oddly nervous. His quicksilver eyes darted over at his friends for a brief moment, who were looking at Malfoy with wary.

 

"Settle down with your mother bear tendencies, you all. I only want to speak to him for a moment," Malfoy drawled with a roll of his eyes, when he noticed their suspicious stares. "I promise I will give him back in one piece."

 

Ron raised an eyebrow. "Okay. Go ahead then."

 

"Alone," Malfoy said pointedly, and then made a shooing motion with his hands. "Scurry away now."

 

"I think you can say whatever you need to say with us here. Harry's going to tell us anyway," Hermione said. Malfoy's mouth twitched in annoyance.

 

"Guys, it's alright," Harry pacified. He shook his head at his friends' overprotectiveness. They could be quite unreasonable at times, no matter how endearing. "You two go on."

 

"Are you sure?" Ron asked.

 

Malfoy's leg was shifting impatiently now. Harry was somewhat afraid he might end up reverting to his old self if they keep him waiting any longer.

 

"Yes," Harry reassured with a derisive snort. "Go on before he bursts a nerve."

 

Ron and Hermione leave. Harry and Malfoy were the only ones left in the classroom.

 

Malfoy bit the inside of his mouth for a moment, perhaps in hesitance or contemplation. He sighed, and then leaned forward. "Do you have any plans for tomorrow?"

 

Harry frowned at the odd question. Coming from Malfoy, at least, it certainly was. What did he care about that?

 

"Um. No. I don't think so… I'll probably just hang out with Ron and 'Mione like always." Harry squinted. "Why—"

 

"Good," Malfoy interrupted. "Meet me outside the kitchens tomorrow at lunch, will you? Come alone."

 

Okay. Malfoy might not be an evil, scheming git, or even a git at all anymore, really, but that might be ringing a lot of alarm bells in his head. Why did he want to meet _Harry_ alone anywhere?

 

"Do you know where that is?" Malfoy asked, perhaps taking his silence as uncertainty. "It's at the portrait of the fruit bowl on the—"

 

"I know where it is," Harry cut in. "But what is this about, really?"

 

"Are you coming or not?"

 

Harry paused. Malfoy didn't want to answer his question. That was another red flag.

 

"I know you don't trust me, what with me being an ex-Death Eater and all—"

 

"It's not about that. I just… don't like mysteries." It was the truth, in a way, or not, depending on how it was seen. The wording was just ambiguous. Harry tried to uncover every mystery he came across because he hated not knowing, and he certainly hated not knowing right now. Even so, Harry knew he was being irrationally paranoid, but could he be blamed? Malfoy had never even liked him all these years.

 

And then a thought occurred to him. Perhaps he was in trouble of some sort.

 

Just as the thought came, however, it went when he remembered the glint of light and life in Malfoy's eyes. He had looked happy today, almost, after months. So was he really?

 

"You'll have all your answers if you meet me tomorrow, Potter," Malfoy said. Bloody Slytherin. "So will you come?"

 

Harry stared at him for a moment. He knew this was a bad idea, and he knew Ron and Hermione were going to tell him the same thing when he told them about this. But for whatever reason, perhaps only to uncover yet another mystery, to solve the enigma of Draco Malfoy, he found himself answering exasperatedly, "Fine. Yes. I'll be there."

 

Malfoy smirked, a sort of pleased half-grin that trapped his lower lip behind his teeth, as he stepped back. Harry's heart did a strange flip. "See you then."

 

…

 

"No _bloody_ way, Harry," Ron said. "Bloody Hell. He was a lot less creepy to me when he was minding his own business. _What_ the hell does he want from you?"

 

"I don't know. That's what I'm supposed to be finding out when I go," Harry answered, sounding as frustrated as he felt.

 

"Mate, why did you even agree?" Ron questioned. "You should have told him to bugger off right then and there."

 

"Well, in case you haven't noticed, Ron, Harry's been quite obsessed with him since the year started. It's even worse than sixth year this time," Hermione pointed out casually from the study desk in the common room. Harry was about to protest her usage of the word 'obsessed' because Harry was absolutely _not— "_ He's also probably just curious. You know Harry can't help a good mystery."

 

"What if he wants to murder you and throw you into the lake?!" Ron exclaimed. Harry knew they both knew just how incapable Malfoy was of murder and violence of that degree, but he understood the sentiment. "If he does _anything_ to you, Harry, I'll fucking hex him."

 

"I mean… I'm sure I can take him, really, Ron. You don't have to worry about that."

 

"I mean, sure, okay. But I still think this is a terrible idea."

 

Hermione rolled his eyes. "You're overreacting. I doubt Malfoy has any wicked intentions. He hasn't been the Malfoy we know since seventh year."

 

…

 

After Potions, Malfoy hadn't shown up for the rest of the classes yesterday and he didn't show up for any of the classes the next day either. It was nearly two hours before lunch that the  _Draco_ _Malfoy_ dot on the Marauders Map moved out of his dorm and to the kitchens where they were assigned to meet.

 

Harry wasn't sure what that meant, why he had stayed there for so long, if there was some other reason he had gone there, perhaps to set up or prepare something.

 

Harry had gone a bit late, having gone back to the common room to change into some casual clothes and having had to talk Ron down until he begrudgingly calmed down. Hermione, ever the reasonable one, swore not to let him follow Harry.

 

When he reached the fruit bowl portrait, he found Malfoy sitting up underneath the portrait against the wall, one leg up and an arm hanging off his knee. He was staring at the ground, his gaze rooted to a spot, unaware of Harry's presence. He still looked as if he'd hardly slept last night, scarlet circles around his tired eyes that made something deep inside Harry's chest ache.

 

"Sorry I'm late," Harry said, attempting to alert him of his arrival. Malfoy's head snapped up at the sound of his voice. He hopped up to his feet, dusting down the front of his dark grey suit, which looked far too fancy for whatever this was going to be.

 

"I only just got here myself, Potter," Malfoy brushed off, waving a hand dismissively. Harry felt a strange sort of twist in his chest at the blatant lie, and the possible idea behind why Malfoy lied. Harry shook his head. _Unlikely_. There were probably many reasons why Malfoy would do that, even if Harry knew none of them.

 

"A bit overdressed, aren't you?" Harry gestured vaguely at him. Then again, he supposed Malfoy was always overdressed. He'd hardly ever seen him in anything other than his fancy suits. Even if he wasn't wealthy anymore, he probably still liked feeling that he was.

 

Malfoy shrugged. "Never hurts to be well-dressed. I reckon you could use a lesson or two." He smirked in amusement, as if to take the edge off the barb.

 

Harry scoffed, shaking his head, but didn't reply.

 

"Shall we?" Malfoy gestured over to the kitchens.

 

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Malfoy. Whatever you need to talk about, talk about it. Right here. There's no need for all these… these formalities or whatever."

 

"Impatient, are we, Potter?" Malfoy snorted. "Well, I'm bloody famished, so I'd much rather we talk over some food."

 

Having clearly noticed the loss in his mass and the fact that he couldn't remember the last time he had seen Malfoy eat in front of his own sight, Harry could hardly refuse him that without feeling like an arsehole, and he didn't want to either. So he sighed, waited as Malfoy tickled the pear on the fruit bowl (and shuddered with a mutter of, _never stops being fucking creepy_ when it giggled _)_ and the portrait became a door.

 

They entered the kitchens bustling with house-elves, and there was a table in the distant corner, already set up with various kinds of foods. Harry tried to think of what else Malfoy could have been doing here, besides getting this ready (which was weird on its own, to think Malfoy would be going to such lengths to arrange a meal with Harry of all people), but he couldn't think of anything.

 

Malfoy did not seem as famished as he had claimed to be. He was eating far too slowly for that to be true, every now and then forgetting that he was supposed to be putting a spoonful of his soup to his mouth as he got lost in thought. They sat in complete silence as they ate, while Harry waited for Malfoy to start with whatever he wanted to converse about.

 

"You look like shite," Harry pointed out, then, just to say something that would cut through the quiet. Malfoy was pale, even paler than normal, and it stood out starkly against the dark shadows around his eyes.

 

Harry then stilled, suddenly realizing just who he was sitting with and who he just said that to. Malfoy's silver eyes flicked up to him, and Harry was sure that he would be affronted, and then he would get mad and say something that would get Harry mad in retribution and then t—

 

"Do I?" Malfoy said. He sipped a spoonful of his soup, and swallowed. "Haven't been sleeping much, I suppose." He smirked, then. "What's your excuse?"

 

Harry ignored the quip, not quite feeling as comfortable to banter with him as Malfoy seemed to. "Why haven't you been sleeping?"

 

"Nightmares." Harry was surprised that he was honest in his answer. Malfoy was looking up at him intently. "I imagine you're familiar with those. Well, I imagine everyone here is by now, really."

 

Harry nodded in understanding and agreement, and said nothing further. He wasn't… entirely sure of what to think. So far, Malfoy had been alright with him, but he kept dodging the question as to why they were here. 

 

They ate some more in even more silence. Nearly a half an hour passed, and Malfoy had only just finished his first bowl of soup.

 

"So…" Harry started, when he was done with waiting for Malfoy to speak up, because he certainly didn't look like he was going to any time soon. "What are we doing here, really, Malfoy?"

 

"What's it look like, Potter?" Malfoy muttered. "We're eating."

 

Harry rolled his eyes, making to stand up. "Look, if you're not going to answer the question, I'm leaving. You're just wasting both our time here." He wasn't serious about leaving. Mostly, he was hoping to force Malfoy into spilling the truth, because for whatever reason, he was very adamant on keeping Harry here.

 

Malfoy dropped his spoon and grabbed him then, reaching out quickly and wrapping his cold, lithe fingers around Harry's wrist. His hairs stood on end at the skin-to-skin contact, perhaps due to the mild change in temperature.

 

"I'll tell you, okay?" Malfoy said, his voice low and earnest, staring up from beneath his lashes with a quiet sort of pleaful persuasion, an expression that looked very out of place for him. Then again, Harry wasn't used to the sight of many expressions on that face, besides his typical sneer and deadpan, and nowadays, that awful, gutwrenching blank and lost one.  "I'll tell you everything. You just have to wait and be patient, Potter. It won't be long now. Can you do that?"

 

Harry held the gaze for a moment. He then sighed and sat back down. Malfoy's chest heaved slightly, in some hushed relief.

 

Malfoy smiled then, soft and pleasant and his silver eyes crinkling, and Harry was startled, as was his heart. "Drink?"

 

…

 

After they finished with lunch, Malfoy stood up, said, "Come on," took hold of his arm and, without warning, Apparated them both over to what appeared to be the outside of a musical concert. It took a minute to orient himself after the sensation of being squeezed through a tube.

 

Harry's brow furrowed. The banner in front of him read in large, designed letters, _Colovaria Concert 1999_. There were crowds and crowds of people up ahead, forming several long queues.

 

Malfoy had grabbed his wrist again, tightly—Merlin's  _pants,_ what in the fuck was it with him manhandling Harry around—and was dragging him through the crowd, shamelessly shoving through tightly packed bodies.

 

"Malfoy, what the _fuck—"_  Harry could hardly hear himself in the bustle and noise, and it was hopeless to hope Malfoy would hear him either. Harry could hear many shouts of protest, and the person at the front of the line shot a seething glare at Malfoy cutting in rudely.

 

Malfoy got right up to the front of the queue, pulling Harry out from between the bodies he was stuck behind and next to him.

 

"Hello," Malfoy said to the guard, who was eyeing the guest list in her hand. She flicked up a quick glance up at him, cocking an eyebrow at his impertinence, but ultimately didn't say anything, choosing to just focus on her job. Her gaze was stuck for a moment on Harry, almost as if she was wondering if she was mistaken, before she shook her head and looked down at the list, clearly concluding that she was.

 

"Hello. Your name and tickets, please?"

 

"Blaise Zabini." Harry felt a strange pang at Malfoy lying about his name, knowing of how the Malfoys had been shunned and hated. If nothing else, at least he wasn't as easily recognizable after all this time. He then leaned in, murmuring to her so that others wouldn't hear. "I haven't got tickets. Sorry. But I've got Harry Potter with me—" Her eyes widened, glancing over at Harry with that awful, awed and starstruck expression he could never get used to. "And I imagine he doesn't need them. He loves the Colovaria, you know, but unfortunately, the tickets were sold out before he could get them. I'm sure you can do something about that? I mean, it's the least he deserves after everything, don't you think? Getting to see his favourite band here in the city, having a fun afternoon to himself with his good friend?"

 

Harry stayed silent, resisting the urge to side-eye Malfoy. He had no idea who the Colovaria were. And _good friend_?

 

This couldn't be what Malfoy brought him here for, just to use his name to get into a concert without a ticket? Right? 

 

"I'm sure the two of you won't mind being placed in the VIP section?" She smiled brightly, looking to Harry with an even brighter gaze. He nodded awkwardly, and then shook his head awkwardly when the phrasing registered in his mind.

 

Malfoy grinned, and it was almost charming, endearing even, despite how unfamiliar it seemed. He really should do that more. He looked nice, Harry vaguely thought, and then ignored the fact that he ever had that thought. "Absolutely not. That would be lovely—" He looked down at her name tag. "Mareen."

 

When they were in the VIP section, separated by a barrier surrounding a region up close to the stage, Harry turned around to the taller boy and gritted out, "Merlin's Beard, this better not be all because you wanted to get into a stupid concert without a ticket, Malfoy!"

 

Malfoy paused, his brows twitching, and then he deadpanned, "Didn't think I just wanted to hang out with you, did you?"

 

…

 

Harry silently sulked and brooded beside Malfoy in the audience. Honestly, _this_ was what it was all about. _Really_? The great mystery was so bloody anticlimactic and underwhelming that Harry wanted to bash his head against a wall. He couldn't even Disapparate out of here due to the wards.

 

_And if you forget me_

_I hope it won't be for the last time_

 

The lead singer was singing softly right now, over a gentle piano and violin melody. They were two songs in, and the Colovaria seemed to be of somewhere between alternative rock and indie rock genre. Harry couldn't deny that they were actually of his own taste, but he didn't want to be here simply on the principle of how disappointed he was about Malfoy's reason to interact with him after months.

 

Harry startled at the hands on his shoulders and arms. Malfoy was blindly tapping his hands over him to get his attention, his excited and awed gaze was fixated on the band playing on the stage, the guitarists and pianists and drummers. It was a strange expression on the otherwise cold or bitter or exhausted face. Harry had somehow not considered what positive emotions not laced with malice might look like on Malfoy's face. His chest felt strange at the sight of it. "Listen!" he yelled over the chorus of noise. "Here it comes, Potter! The best part!"

 

There was a beat drop, and then complete silence.

 

And then the stage lit up, bright sparks and glows of light all over as coloured smoke permeated the air. The band went wild, jumping all over with their instruments and banging their heads and bodies to the music, as the guitar and drums start up, a hard and fast rhythm and riff raffs that have the entire crowd cheering loudly, others behind Malfoy jumping and dancing. Malfoy cupped his hands around his grin and whooped with such passion and joy that he had to bend slightly at the abdomen, knees crouching down by the force of it. The golden sunlight glittered down on him, caught in the silver of his crinkling eyes and platinum hair, making him all golden too.

 

Harry couldn't look away.

 

It was nearly five songs later that Harry lost himself in it, unaware of his own swaying and the subtle, rhythmic head movements and tapping fingers on the biceps of his crossed arms to the music until he caught Malfoy's eye, watching him with an unfathomable look in his sharp moonstone eyes, that didn't look as sharp at the moment, for whatever reason. He stilled, suddenly feeling flustered and awkward. One pale eyebrow cocked up as it roved over him, his lips curling up into that bloody smirk again.

 

That burning throb of an urge was back again in his chest, as it had many times before throughout the day, the one that kept trying to force his hands and his body into something imprudent and unwise. If nothing else, it would certainly wipe that fucking smirk off of Malfoy's face if he gave into it.

 

Fuck. He shouldn't. He really shouldn't.

 

…

 

"Any more concerts you want to use my name to get into without paying, or can I go now?"

 

"Not yet," Malfoy answered, examining a hat from the merch cart. Harry wasn't even sure _why_  he was still here, asking Malfoy if he could go when he could just, well, _go._

 

"Yeah. No. I wasn't actually asking." Harry turned around. "Bye, Malfoy."

 

"Fuck, Potter, would you just stop trying to run away!" Harry felt cold fingers around his arm, _again,_ twisting him around hard to face him. Malfoy's expression was pinched with annoyance and exasperation, as if Harry had no reason to be trying to run away after all this time of being kept in the dark about _whatever in the fuck was going on right now._

 

"You've got your concert. What else do you need me here for?"

 

Malfoy paused. He furrowed his brows, shaking his head. "You think _that's_ —are you really as stupid as I once thought you were?"

 

"You _said—"_

 

"It was sarcasm, you dolt!"

 

"Oh." Harry grew warm and flustered. He wasn't sure how he didn't catch the sarcasm, but then again, could he be blamed? He had thought there was no way it could have been as simple as _Malfoy_ just wanting to—wait. What. "Wait. So you… you do just… want to hang out?"

 

"How much for this?" Malfoy asked the keeper behind the cart, and Harry was more certain that he ignored the question than that he got distracted.

 

"Five Galleons," she responded. Her eyes caught on Harry, and then widened, her face growing red. Harry felt the crawl of awkwardness slither under his skin again. "Are you—um… oh Merlin—

 

Malfoy dug into his pockets and pulled out five Galleons, putting it down in front of her and taking the red and green Colovaria cap. "Let's go, Potter."

 

"Wait, can I have your au—"

 

Malfoy grabbed his shoulders and pushed through the crowd. Harry was somewhat— okay, _very—_ grateful for the intervention.

 

Once they were out, thankfully unnoticed and unrecognized any further, Harry turned him around, and then wondered if that unbidden touch would offend the Slytherin. It didn't. Malfoy just moved with his touch and rolled his eyes, as if he knew what was coming.

 

"There's no other reason, then? You just—is this—are we just hanging out?"

 

He thought of Malfoy, hunched over alone in corners or unpartnered in classes over the last few months, sunken eyes blankly staring at nothing. He had looked painfully lost and lonely, and Harry had wanted to reach out, had thought of doing it everyday, just going up to him and sitting beside him and trying to talk to him. He'd sit close by to him, even go into libraries to find him, and then he'd watch him in quick glances and stares, trying to convince himself to go and talk to him.

 

But something always held him back.

 

Perhaps it was the thought that Malfoy would not feel inclined towards opening up to him, or wanting to be his friend, that Harry would be the last person he would want to talk to anyway, and Harry didn't even know if he could help him. He was hardly in the best state of mind himself most days. He was afraid he might just end up making things worse.

 

Now he wondered if it didn't matter, if Malfoy had maybe just needed someone. Anyone. Even if it was an ex-childhood rival he hardly even liked or wanted around him.

 

Malfoy shifted his jaw, looking away, and then down at the hat in his hands, as if he was feeling too exposed and vulnerable and uncomfortable about it. "It's just one day," he said quietly. "You won't have me anywhere near you again after this, Potter. I promise."

 

"No!" Harry said quickly. "No. I mean… I don't mind. It's alright. You can come as—"  _near me as you want_. He stopped himself, mortified and suddenly feeling hot and uncomfortable again. He rubbed the back of his neck. Malfoy's head had snapped up to him at that, one eyebrow cocked in surprise and… something else, that unfathomable look again like when he was watching Harry at the concert. Harry hoped desperately that he didn't hear the unspoken, that he didn't know just what was about to come out of his mouth right then.

 

Malfoy didn't say anything to that, thankfully. He threw him the green and red cap. Harry caught it on reflex, and then glanced down at it, not sure what he was supposed to do with it.

 

"I don't want this?"

 

Malfoy shrugged. "Neither do I."

 

"Why'd you buy it then?"

 

"I wanted it. Now I don't," Malfoy said carelessly, simply. Fickle prat. "Anyway, you should put that on, hide that scar of yours lest your fan group recognize you and gather to you like ducklings to their mother."

 

When Harry spent a bit too much time staring at the cap, tentatively contemplating whether Malfoy had just bought something solely for him and was trying to conceal his intentions—Malfoy hated red, didn't he?—Malfoy snatched the cap off his hands with an exasperated sigh and placed it on his head himself. Harry was sure he looked as ridiculous as he felt, with his wild and untamed raven hair spilling out from the sides.

 

Malfoy's lips twitched into a tiny, imperceptible smile, leaving as quick as it came, leaving Harry to wonder if he imagined it, but keeping the hat on just the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Knut for your thoughts? I hope you enjoyed the start of the story! Two more chapters to go!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for brief homophobia (not by Draco or Harry)

"I thought they cut off most of your wealth," Harry said, staring puzzledly at the building of the fancy restaurant looming over them, the kind where they sold water at the price of gold.

 

"They did." Malfoy smirked. "But I've got a plan."

 

Harry did not like the look of that mischievous smirk. He did _not_.

 

"Don't tell me you're going to use some illegal means—" Harry said, and then trailed off when the thought struck him. " _Malfoy_ , I swear, if you're going to use my name _again—"_

 

"Relax," Malfoy scoffed. "Not this time, no. I don't want people coming up and trying to fix the Chosen One's table cloth or—or licking off your leftovers, or whatever."

 

Harry grimaced in disgust. Did he have to say that?

 

"Well, I'm not even dressed for this kind of place," Harry pointed out.

 

Malfoy fixed him with a dry look.

 

"Honestly, Potter. Are you a wizard or what?" The inadvertently similar words reminded him of Ron and Hermione.

 

Malfoy took out his wand and transfigured his current clothes into a proper suit. He left the hat unchanged.

 

"Come on." Malfoy nodded his head, and then walked towards the door.

 

When he reached the door, he pushed it open, stepped aside and waited for Harry to walk through.

 

Harry did not walk through.

 

Rather, he stood frozen in the doorway, his face pinched tightly as he gawked.

 

Malfoy was holding the door open for him. _Malfoy_ . What the _fuck—_

 

It must have lasted too long, because—

 

"Potter," Malfoy said flatly. "Fucking _walk_ before I let this door slam right into your face and break it."

 

Harry broke out of his paralysis and moved forward, his mind still trying to comprehend what just happened.

 

So, did—did Malfoy take all the people he hung out with to posh restaurants and hold doors open for them? Was that normal, somehow, for him? Maybe it was a pureblood thing…

 

Malfoy was telling the lady about the reservations he had made. She pointed them over to a table somewhere far in the corner. He thanked her politely, looked at Harry and gestured in the general direction of where their assigned seat was.

 

Malfoy walked in front of him, pulled a chair back from under the table with one hand, the other in his pocket, and then paused. He stepped back.

 

"Actually," he said. "I'll sit over there." He nodded at Harry's side of the chair, which he was just about to take out.

 

Harry stared at him for a moment. What did it even matter?

 

"Why?"

 

"Because I want to, Potter. Now switch." Malfoy rounded over, pushed Harry to the other side by his back towards the other chair, and sat down as he tugged the chair out.

 

Malfoy was going batty. Harry was sure of it.

 

Both of them seated, Harry sat awkwardly, not sure what to do now. This was... odd. Not bad, but just… odd. This hang-out was not normal, but then he supposed neither was Malfoy. He couldn't imagine taking Ron or Hermione out like this, not out of nowhere, anyway. Maybe both of them, at the same time, on some celebratory occasion, but being here alone with Malfoy, he felt like he was on a—

 

He certainly would not have held doors open for them. They could open their own doors for themselves, thank you very much.

 

Just to do something with his sweaty palms, Harry reached out and grabbed the menu. He opened it, flipped a few pages to a random one, and nearly balked at the prices.

 

"How in the world are we going to pay for this?!" Harry exclaimed out loud, before he could stop himself. He didn't bring many Galleons and Sickles with him. Far from this much. What was so great about the food here that one tiny custard dish would cost nearly one hundred and fifty Galleons?

 

He remembered the mischievous smirk on Malfoy's face. Oh no. Oh, fuck no. Something was about to happen, wasn't it? Something bad and illegal and _wrong—_

 

"That's not for you to worry about," Malfoy said calmly, reading through his own menu. Harry snorted, somewhat hysterically. No, of course. Malfoy was just about to do something morally wrong and about to drag Harry down that pit too. Why should that concern Harry? He didn't care much for rules, he never had, but he did care a lot about being conscientous.

 

"What are you going to do, really, Malfoy?"

 

Malfoy sighed. "It's only a bit of deception. Nothing criminal, I promise. Stop worrying your thick head about it."

 

"Malfoy, I am _this_ close to leaving if you don't—"

 

Malfoy slapped down the menu, crossed his arms over his chest as he leaned back, and said with a wry smile, "Alright, if you want to know _so_ badly, Potter." He uncrossed his arms, pulled his silver ring out of his finger with one swift tug of a hand and then held it up, shining it in the light for Harry to see. "A fake proposal."

 

Harry's brain stopped working there. Which was happening far too much today.

 

This might be… the most bizarre and surreal day he had ever had, and that was saying a _lot_ , being the one that had to destroy the Darkest Wizard of all time.

 

"But… we're both blokes…" Harry tried to deflect.

 

He huffed out a derisive laugh. "Salazar, Potter. Don't tell me the Saviour of the Wizarding World is _that_ naive—"

 

Harry shook his head exasperatedly. "No, I _mean…_ people don't always react well to queer people—"

 

"Fuck them."

 

Harry was somewhat taken aback. He had always thought Malfoy was the kind of person to be opposed to people like him. Bigoted and biased. His bisexuality was one of the biggest things he had hoped Malfoy would never find out about.

 

Just then, the waitress came in, asking if they were ready to order. In his haste of searching for the cheapest thing he could find, Harry ended up ordering something that he promptly decided might have been the last thing he would ever want to put it in his mouth by the sound of it. Malfoy's orders, while few, were shamelessly expensive, and Harry facepalmed so hard he could have broken his own glasses.

 

When the waitress left, Malfoy's silver gaze turned to him, remaining for a moment, before he said, "Look, if you're worried about your heterosexuality sensibilities getting offended… let me just tell you, I don't give a fuck."

 

"I don't have heterosexual sensibilities," Harry said with an eyeroll. "I'm not even heter—"

 

Oh.

 

There was complete silence then. Malfoy's eyes were narrowed with intrigue, snow-blonde head tilted slightly.

 

"Interesting," Malfoy said, sounding very much interested. Harry had no idea why his sexuality would fascinate the other man so much, but apparently it did.

 

Harry shrugged, glancing away, mindlessly looking at the other patrons to avoid Malfoy's burning gaze.

 

"But, uh…" Malfoy seemed to be fumbling with words. The pause lasted a long moment, before he, rather ineloquently in a way that was uncharacteristic of him, settled on, "Cho Chang? Ginerva Weasley?"

 

The whole thing with Cho Chang was an awkward disaster. She was wonderful, but Harry supposed they hadn't quite worked well together, and she wasn't in the best state of mind to be in a relationship after... after Cedric's death.

 

His secret crush on Cedric had complicated things even more, even if he hadn't entirely understood it then.

 

What he had with Ginny was a lot more real, less about hormones and more genuine feelings when it had happened. But after the War, they just never got back together. It was just an unspoken sort of understanding and agreement, that there were a lot of things that could never go back to normal and they were one of those things. Neither of them were in the mindset to maintain a whole relationship after. She was dating Dean Thomas now.

 

Harry figured he might as well just go ahead and tell him the rest of it.

 

"Cedric Diggory," he said softly.

 

The name said out loud left a pang in his chest, even years later, briefly snatching the air away from his lungs. Malfoy had gone silent and solemn too, a far cry from the boy that once ruthlessly brought up Cedric's death in an insensitive manner.

 

Harry swallowed down the lump in his throat, ducking down to look at his hands. He lifted his head after a moment of silence and smiled slightly to lighten the atmosphere. "Viktor Krum."

 

Malfoy's head tipped back as he smirked licentiously on the bitten corner of his lower lip, leaning back on the chair. He drummed his fingers on the table top as he hummed appreciatively. "Viktor Krum."

 

Harry's brows jumped to his hairline. "Really? _You_?"

 

Malfoy shrugged. "Why not me?"

 

Harry stilled. Sure. Why not him, he supposed. It wasn't as if he'd ever seen Malfoy date girls.

 

Well, except…

 

"Pansy Parkinson?"

 

Malfoy seemed a bit surprised at the mention of her. Harry wasn't sure if he should have brought her up, given that they seemed so close when she was still here. Most of the Slytherins seemed to have dropped off the face of the Earth these days.

 

He snorted. "I mean, technically, I'd still be considered very homosexual if I had fancied someone as virile as that."

 

The burst of laughter was surprising to Harry himself as much as it must have been to Malfoy. He bowed over the table, shoulders shaking mirthfully as his arms laid atop the glass surface. His hand shot up to his grinning mouth, shyly, as he looked up, which was just in time to see a split-second glimpse of Malfoy's own grin, before it wiped off quickly.

 

Malfoy looked away, clearing his throat uncomfortably. His lips were pursed. He was watching the other patrons.

 

"Well, just so you know, Potter," Malfoy said. "They're not like that here. Not the staff, at least. I've seen it happen, and they were nothing but supportive."

 

Harry supposed it was about time he try to make proper conversation now. Malfoy's been quite alright so far, so why not?  "Do you come here often?"

 

And fucked that up by asking the most cliched, flirtatious question ever. Excellent.

 

Thankfully, Malfoy didn't seem to take it that way and answered in a very civil manner.

 

"Not a lot, no. It _is_ one of my favourites, but I only ever come here on the most special occasions. The last time must have been about, what, four years ago?" That explained why he wasn't as easily recognized.

 

Harry nodded. And then stopped. He frowned.

 

"Special occasions?"

 

Malfoy hummed. And then stopped too. And then his eyes flicked over to Harry, like he had just been caught red-handed with his hand in the cookie jar. His pale skin grew flushed around the neck and ears.

 

"That's… that's not what I meant."

 

Harry's lips quirked playfully, laying his chin on his palm. He knew Malfoy probably didn't mean it to imply having Harry here was a special occasion, but it was still hilarious to watch the man squirm.

 

"Do tell, Malfoy. What's the special occasion right now?"

 

"Does there—does there _have_ to be a special occasion?" Malfoy stammered. "I just felt like coming here today."

 

"With me of all people?"

 

Malfoy was flustered and speechless at his mishap. Harry held back the snort of laughter behind tight cheeks and lips, a restrained smile playing on his lips.

 

Harry's smile slid off very quickly from his lips when Malfoy's curled into that damn smirk, narrowed silver eyes glinting with mischief, as if he knew just what to do to shut Harry up.

 

"Well, of course. Being with you is always a special occasion, darling." Malfoy's voice was falsely sincere and soft, but very clearly carrying over to many of the other inhabitants. "And I hope to make it so that it can be forever."

 

Oh, fuck no.

 

And then Malfoy slid off his chair, dropped to one trouser-clad knee in front of Harry, and held up the silver ring between his fingers. Harry felt the eyes of the fifteen other patrons on them, and he huddled into himself under their scrutiny, his face and his body burning and sweaty. Malfoy was looking up at him from beneath his eyelashes, his face shaped into one of hope, silver eyes painfully tender, his grin small and painfully tender, his face flushed with it. Harry had to give it to the bastard, he was good at making it look real.

 

"Harriet James, will you do me the honour of spending the rest of your life with me?"

 

Harry swallowed hard, wanting to rip his sweaty and hot skin off, wanting to bury his face into his hands and crawl into a hole and never come out. He kept himself still instead, nodding stiffly, smiling even more stiffly.

 

The whole restaurant exploded into cheers and wolf-whistles. The waiters and waitresses present were grinning too, clapping loudly along with the rest of them.

 

Malfoy took his trembling hand in his own gently, cold palm wrapped around the back of his, and slipped the silver ring onto his second finger. He knelt upright on both his knees, hands on Harry's thighs, and kissed him hard on the cheek, nearly making him fall off his chair with the force of it.

 

Their waitress came over with their food, gushed about how adorable they were together, and informed them that in celebration of their _beautiful_ engagement, they were offering a fifty-percent decrease in their overall bills.

 

Afterwards, Harry sat there for the longest time in silent shock, overwhelmed by the bizarreness and immense surrealism of it all, as Malfoy laughed and laughed and laughed.

 

…

 

As bizarre as it was, the day was actually...eventful. Fun. He didn't know how he was going to tell Ron and Hermione about it all, and they would probably die laughing at the madness of it all, but it was quite a story to tell.

 

Malfoy had seemingly changed much from what Harry remembered him to be. While still having many of his git moments, it wasn't in any infuriating or offensive way. Most of the time, it was even endearing and funny. He was good company for the most part. He listened well and closely to much of what Harry spoke about, and responded with equal interest, even if he was very moderate and casual in his expressions. He was an excellent story-teller, with hand gestures and expressions and vocal mimicry that contributed to his skills even more.

 

Towards the end of their stay at the restaurant, before the bill came and all he way until they were leaving, Malfoy had been regaling him with a hysterical tale involving his friends, Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott and love potion pranks gone wrong, and Harry found himself laughing all throughout, his stomach pained with how hard he laughed and his cheeks aching and his eyes tearing by the end of it.

 

"You must miss them a lot," Harry said softly, once the laughter died down, as they walked down the street together.

 

Malfoy shrugged, his gaze roving over the glass windows of the shops ahead and avoiding Harry's.

 

They had just made their way out of the restaurant. They had split the bill in the end, but Malfoy was oddly insistent at first about paying the whole bill, something about not wanting to go against pureblood traditions and being the one to invite Harry and being old-fashioned and Merlin knew what else that made absolutely no sense to Harry whatsoever. Not a normal hang-out, like Harry had thought, but he supposed stranger things have happened.

 

Malfoy holding the door open for Harry. Check.

 

Malfoy pulling out his chair for him, maybe, honestly what the—check.

 

Fake marriage proposals. Check.

 

Getting kissed on the cheek by Malfoy. Check.

 

Malfoy insisting to pay the bills like an old-fashioned man with a lover he was on a date with. Check.

 

Okay, no. What. The fuck.

 

"Faggots!"

 

Harry froze at the same time Malfoy did.

 

They both turned around, and found a man walking down at the adjacent end of the street with a woman who seemed to be trying to talk him out of it. He was sneering at them. They must have been at the restaurant.

 

Something in Harry's head exploded, his vision turning red and his body set ablaze with fury.

 

If there was _one_  thing Harry couldn't stand…

 

His wand was out by the next second, and he lurched forward toward the man, ready to stride over and—

 

Hands on his collar pushing him back stopped him.

 

"Stop. Breathe," Malfoy urged reposedly, silver staring intently into green, grounding hands on his neck.

 

Harry tried to thrash him off, gritting out, "If there is one thing I can't fucking stand, it's bigotry—"

 

Malfoy's eyes grew tinged with remorse with the briefest moment, before quickly becoming controlled and impassive.

 

"Breathe, Potter," Malfoy repeated, still calm and collected. "Don't let him get under your skin."

 

When Harry breathed deeply, his jaw clenched and tight, and it didn't seem like he was about to run at the bigoted man, Malfoy stepped back, turned as he reached into the inner pocket of his suit, and took out his wand.

 

"You Gryffindors," Malfoy said with a scoff. "Always with the violence. Don't you know the art of subtlety can be utilized brilliantly when it comes to vengeance?"

 

Malfoy half-smiled slyly and pointed his wand at the man, who was no longer glaring at them, but walking forward, unsuspecting and content in his misconception that he was walking away without any consequences.

 

" _Legilimens_ ," Malfoy muttered.

 

Harry looked at Malfoy, and then at the man.

 

Who had suddenly halted still in his tracks. There was an expression of quickly growing horror on his face.

 

Harry was utterly clueless about what it was that Malfoy just did.

 

The man spun around, his reddened, infuriated glare landing right on them, and then he was storming down towards them, yelling vulgarities and words they couldn't entirely hear as he pointed at them angrily, the woman with him frantically trying to hold him back. He was then reaching into his suit to take out his own wand.

 

"Oh fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck—" Malfoy grabbed Harry's hand, spun them both around so hard Harry nearly tripped on his own feet and _pulled_. "RUN!"

 

So they did.

 

…

 

They ducked into the first alley they could find when running through a moderate crowd of people, crashing against the brick walls together, panting and gasping.

 

They watched the man run right past, and only then relaxed, slumping back fully, their shoulders leaning together closely, but too breathless and aching to move in anyway.

 

And then Malfoy broke out into laughter, open and free and uncontained. Even despite the lack of air, which made his laughter soundless, he laughed and laughed, relieved and amused. His white-blonde head was thrown back until it touched the wall and he was slipping down against it as he shook, and Harry hadn't seen him laugh as much as he did today _ever_ , and he was fixated, and he couldn't look away.

 

Harry joined in soon, much quieter. He didn't know what it was that had had Malfoy so wickedly gleeful, but his laughter was infecting Harry, and he couldn't help himself.

 

"Did you see—his face?" Malfoy managed to get out between his snorts and puffs, and Harry vividly noticed him leaning his grinning face towards his own, which was bowed between his trembling shoulders, as if he was closely observing his reaction.

 

Harry nodded, his cheeks tight in a grin and his eyes clenched shut as he tried to control his own laughter. He bowed over slightly due to the tensing of his abdominal muscles.  "Absolutely... _horrified_ . _Merlin_ , Malfoy, what did you even—"

 

The answer had to be delayed, because Malfoy started laughing all over again.

 

When the bout was over and he finally calmed down, Harry asked again, "What did you do?" He couldn't keep the grin out of his voice as he did at the sight of Malfoy losing it.

 

Malfoy shook his head, coughed a bit to clear his voice, and then inhaled and exhaled, trying to regain his breaths back.

 

"Just… well… I just showed him a very vivid image of—of two men... you know, snogging. Half-naked."

 

"Oh." Harry said, and then snorted, and then maybe sort of kind of giggled at the whole new context of the situation.

 

"To make it even worse for him," Malfoy snickered, trying not to lose it again. "It was us."

 

Harry balked, all humour draining out of him instantly. "Wait. WHAT?"

 

Malfoy coughed slightly to clear the dryness in his throat that Harry was feeling himself after all that laughing. He dropped back against the wall, still a hint of an amused smile on his face, but he wasn't looking at Harry. He was looking somewhere at the walls in front of them.

 

"I thought… I thought you'd be a lot more… grossed out. At the thought of that. Us, I mean." Harry could not explain the tightening feeling around his ribs when he said the words aloud.

 

"You're not nearly as unattractive as you think, Potter," Malfoy drawled, his voice somewhat raspy.  "And I reckon the two of us have faced much worse than the idea of us snogging."

 

Harry was somewhat stuck on the first part of that response.

 

"Did you just… say something nice about me?"

 

Malfoy's head snapped to him, his eyes narrowed. "If you tell anyone," he warned, one finger whipping up to point in his face. "I _will_ hex you."

 

Harry laughed, which was painful at this point for his muscles. He put up one hand pacifyingly. "Okay, okay. The secretly soft Slytherin's secret is safe with me."

 

Malfoy nodded, relaxing dramatically.

 

It was in the silence that draped over them comfortably that Harry noticed the cold grasp around one of his hands, one pale, lithe hand still tangled tightly around it between their bodies.

 

He could not explain, either, why he continued to pretend he didn't notice.

 

...

 

After that was a trip to Honeydukes for some sweets, some Butterbeers at Leaky Cauldron, and then a Quidditch match between the Holyhead Harpies and the Wimbourne Wasps.

 

After that, by nightfall, they laid down on the grass near the lake side by side, where everything was silent and empty. They watched the starry sky together, and it was peaceful and calm in a way Harry hadn't been able to feel within himself for a long time. Even after everything was over, after everything was okay, it seemed that he still wasn't, still plagued by memories and grief and nightmares. Some days were better than others, but most days still felt like a constant trudge in the mud.

 

Here, right now, it all seemed strangely far away.

 

And somehow, they found themselves discussing and sharing and confessing things, even things they admit they had never told anyone. There was something about Malfoy, something about the way he listened and responded. He didn't look at him with sadness or pity, and he didn't look uncomfortable and uncertain like he was struggling to find the right, magical words to say or the best possible advice. If he had something helpful to offer, comfort or advice, he gave it, and he understood when there wasn't anything that could be said to make it better, opting to let things stay quiet between them instead. Sometimes it just helped to know someone knew.

 

He listened when Harry told him about growing up in a cupboard, living with a family that starved him and never wanted him or cared for him, confessed that he had once craved their affection and acceptance so much that he made himself get better at everything they forced him to do to get any token of approval when he was young, but they never noticed or cared. He'd watch his cousin receive all their love for free, while he fought for it every day and never managed to make himself mean anything to them.

 

"Bloody hell, you'd have to be a certain level of fucked up to do _that_ to a child," Malfoy had said in disgust, sneering. Who would have thought, Malfoy being angry on _his_ behalf one day?

 

He talked about Cedric and Dobby and Hedwig and his beloved godfather, Sirius, and Mad-Eye and Dumbledore and Fred. All the people he lost. He talked about dying in a forest at the hands of Voldemort, and the choice he had, and how much he wanted to go.

 

"For what it's worth, Potter," Malfoy had said quietly. "I'm glad you chose life. I know it hasn't been the best one, but you deserve to live long enough to make it better."

 

It meant something entirely different, hearing it from Malfoy, that he deserved to live even after how much he had failed, after how many people had died in a war that was between _him_ and a evil madman, how many died for him. Harry knew Malfoy would only tell him straight up and honestly what he deserved.

 

"You've changed a lot," Harry said, staring up at the expanse of the night sky. He understood a lot of the Malfoy he used to be, even if, in Malfoy's own words, it didn't justify or excuse his actions now. "You're still a git, but you're not… a _git_ git _._ "

 

Malfoy smirked briefly at that, and then let it fade. "Haven't you? Hasn't everyone, after the War?"

 

Malfoy had shared much of himself tonight, without sharing any vulnerability or emotion in any true way. He somehow had a way with that, with talking about dark things like he was just telling Harry about the upcoming weather, things about Voldemort living in his home and the constant threat of death looming over him and his family and being tortured by his aunt and Death-Eaters that treated the Malfoys like scum in his own home and Dumbledore and his father dying in Azkaban without them ever resolving their issues, without Malfoy getting to say goodbye.

 

Somewhere along the way, Harry had found that their hands were in tentative contact, just a soft brush that he could barely feel, that could just be on accident. He didn't move it away.

 

…

 

Harry had Colovaria songs vaguely playing in the back of his head, the rock tunes, the hard and fast riff raffs that had delighted Malfoy so much, and the memories of the day drifted across his thoughts. He kept thinking about Malfoy's lips against his cheek, and the tender half-grin and silver eyes just before, and his cold hand gripping his own in the alley.

 

"Did you know that… that no matter how perfect, nothing can ever stay perfect?" Malfoy said softly, after a long silence, fixated on the sky. Harry looked over, fixated on him. "You know, because—one way or another, something always ruins it, such as— as you yourself or your mind or forces beyond you."

 

Harry frowned, but he remained quiet.

 

Malfoy's gaze tore away from the sky, turning to meet Harry's. His cheek was inches away from pressing into the grass, his face inches away from Harry's. "The only way to let something stay perfect..." His eyes were haunted and fatigue-bruised and raw, staring into his own. "is to let go before it can be ruined."

 

He didn't know where it was all really coming from, or if he entirely understood what the cryptic words even meant. They almost sounded like they were coming from someone else.

 

Malfoy's gaze was going far away again, like when he sat alone in corners or unpartnered in classes, glazed and distant, and he noticed again just how sunken in his eyes still were, and how pale and thin he still looked, and after all the laughter of the day, he remembered that it was going to be a long time before Malfoy would really be okay again.

 

Harry wanted to touch the bruises around his eyes, but he didn't.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for content that deals with suicidal feelings and plans to attempt, strongly implied. Please don't read if this can be harmful to your mental health

"I should go," Harry said, as he slowly hoisted himself up into a sitting position. Even as he said it, though, he found his body feeling rooted to the grassy ground, leaning back on his palms.

 

"You should go," Malfoy echoed, and then he pushed himself up on his hands as well to mimic his sitting position. "Those mother-henning friends of yours are probably going insane wondering where you've gone."

 

Harry chuckled. "Probably, yeah. Sorry about them. Yesterday morning, I mean. They were kind of…"

 

Malfoy waved it away easily. "Don't worry about it. I hardly cared."

 

Harry snorted, and then shrugged. "Um. That's good, I suppose?"

 

Malfoy hummed. And they collapsed into silence. Neither of them moved.

 

Harry bit his lip, glancing over at the other man. "I had fun today, you know."

 

Malfoy's pale eyebrows arched, appearing surprised.

 

"I did," Harry insisted upon seeing the astonished expression, his chest growing heavy at Malfoy's incredulity. "We should do this again."

 

There was something in Malfoy's eyes right then that didn't make sense to Harry, an odd, raw flash of— of want, of hope, perhaps even a tinge of desperation. It lasted only for all of two seconds, before he averted his gaze.

 

Malfoy huffed, somewhat nervously. "Potter, I think you believe you want that about as much as I do."

 

Harry's forehead scrunched. "What's that supposed to mean?"

 

Malfoy shook his head, as if to brush it off. "It's—I'm afraid it can't be more than a one-time thing."

 

For a moment, something in Harry's chest shrivelled. Perhaps Malfoy did not enjoy his company as much as Harry had thought he did, if at all. Perhaps this was the end of it, this blooming—friendship, maybe, because Malfoy had his fun and now he was done with him. With that thought came a sudden influx of scorching anger borne of hurt, and the immense regret of baring his soul to a boy who clearly could never feel anything more than enmity or indifference for Harry.

 

"I… I won't be here tomorrow," Malfoy conceded then, hesitantly.

 

All the anger drained from Harry's body in an instant.

 

"Wait." Harry frowned, straightening upright, and then shook his head. "What, are you… are you leaving?"

 

Malfoy nodded, staring down at the space of the ground between his splayed legs. "I'll be gone by tomorrow morning."

 

Harry blinked. "Where will you go?"

 

Malfoy shrugged. "I haven't really worked that out yet."

 

"But— _why_? Why not just finish your last year here? And you're—you're bound to stay here by the Ministry, aren't you? How can you…"

 

"Potter, it just. It doesn't matter, okay? They can't stop me."

 

 _Yes they can,_  Harry wanted to say. Of course they can. What was he _thinking?_

 

"Why are you leaving?"

 

"Because I'm not happy here, Potter." Malfoy looked over at him in some desperate plea, perhaps in a plea for some understanding. "I can't be at peace until I get out. I can't… I can't do it. I can't finish this."

 

Harry stared at him, at the ripped apart man in front of him, on the verge of becoming frantic. He sounded like a caged man begging for freedom.

 

"Yeah, okay," Harry said, carefully. "I... I get it."

 

Malfoy exhaled out a shudder of a breath, and then he looked away, his shoulders hunching as if he was carrying boulders on them, just like the Malfoy of these past months, a far cry from the once confident and arrogant man that had always had his chin held up.

 

Harry looked away too, wanting to ask, wanting to—but he didn't know how. He just didn't know how. His stomach was queasy, and a strange, inexplicable sort of dread was gnawing at his insides.

 

The silence draped over them once more.

 

"I just wanted a good day," Malfoy said softly. "Just a good last day, you know? Sounded boring and lonely as fuck, the thought of spending it all alone."

 

Harry's head ducked for a moment, his vision rooted to the clasp of his hands.

 

"Was it?" Harry asked, glancing up at him. "Was it a good day?"

 

Softened silver met green, then, Malfoy's face strangely mellow, and the upturn of one corner of his lips even more so.

 

"It was."

 

Harry half-smiled feebly, nodded and ducked his head down again.

 

Malfoy's last day in this country, in the place he grew up and where laid everything he had ever known, and he spent it with Harry of all people. Why?

 

"Why—" Harry asked hesitantly. Some part of him didn't know if he wanted to know the answer, if he wanted to hear that Malfoy would have spent the day with anyone else other than Harry if he could have, because Harry _had_ really started to like the Slytherin, more than perhaps anyone should in such a short time when they had a bad history between them. It seemed to be the only plausible answer though. He forced himself to ask anyway, "Why me? Um, why—why with me?"

 

There was nothing then. There was just the sound of night winds whipping past his ears in the silence, rustling grass and leaves and clothes and hair, and Harry thought, maybe he didn't want to know. Maybe he shouldn't have asked.

 

And then there were hands grabbing his bowed face carefully, turning it to the side towards another pale face leaning closely to his own, lowered to try and meet his eyes. Harry blinked as he lifted his gaze, locking with Malfoy's moonstone ones, and he was looking at him in the painfully tender way that he was looking at him in the restaurant during that fake proposal.

 

Harry's heart halted to a stop at the sight of it.

 

When Malfoy's face crossed the inches of distance between them, his heart jolted into rapid beats again, the feeling of it pounding against his sternum. Malfoy's mouth pressed against his own, one soft, chaste kiss that was enough to steal all of his breaths away, pleasurable tingles radiating from his lips and down his spine.

 

It lasted three infinite seconds, just as softly letting go.

 

Harry could do nothing but stare as Malfoy's head moved back to look at him, still in that painfully tender way, temple against his. His thumbs stroked over his very warm and flushed cheeks, and then ran down his chin once, index finger underneath in a light grip.

 

And then the touches fell away altogether.

 

Harry exhaled sharply, finally breathing as his fingers shot up to his tingling mouth. His brain felt scattered and hazy and blank again, which seemed to be happening a lot around Malfoy today, but he managed to croak out a helpless and baffled, "What—what was that?"

 

"Were you really so deprived of romance in your life, Potter?" Malfoy scoffed, remnants of that strange tenderness seeping into his voice despite it. He was still sitting so close to him, his gaze still leaning to meet his. "It's called a kiss. It's what you do when you're in love with someone, to show affection."

 

Harry, still helpless and baffled and not quite able to get over the shock of it, could only blurt out, "But you're not in love with me."

 

Malfoy's face was exasperated as he stared at him, but the fondness didn't leave his eyes. "No, of course not. I only kissed you just now because I tripped and fell face-first on your mouth."

 

And then Malfoy pushed away from him, scooting back like he had never just been in Harry's space a second ago and kissed him, and gazed ahead at the sparkling lake waters.

 

"Goodbye, Potter."

 

Harry's eyebrow arched. "You don't want to… you don't want to hear about what I have to say about this?"

 

Malfoy shrugged carelessly, but Harry caught the apprehensive flex of his throat. "I already know. You should go, Potter. Your friends must be thinking I murdered you by now."

 

As he watched Malfoy watch the water, Harry felt the nausea in his gut again, that strange, inexplicable dread. Something wasn't right, but he couldn't…

 

"I'll walk you to your dorm, Malfoy." Something inside of him was trembling, shrivelling up.

 

Malfoy couldn't seem to rip his sunken gaze away from the waters, his hollow face ashen in the moonlight.

 

"I'll stay for a while. I need to think."

 

_I'm afraid it can't be more than a one-time thing._

 

Harry watched him, not being able to move or breathe or speak. The dread swelled up even more in his stomach, causing his heart to begin to speed. He could hear the hammering of it in his own ears, and he felt sick to his gut. His throat was burning.

 

_It doesn't matter, okay? They can't stop me._

 

_You won't have me anywhere near you again after this, Potter. I promise._

 

_I won't be here tomorrow morning._

 

"Potter..." Malfoy sounded distant. More than anything, he sounded weary. "When I'm gone—if you ever think of me... try to remember me as who I was on this day, okay?"

 

_Because I'm not happy here, Potter. I can't be at peace until I get out. I can't… I can't do it. I can't finish this._

 

Mingling with it all was that burning throb in his chest again, the one that kept trying to force his hands and body into something imprudent and unwise, the one that had kept coming back over and over all throughout the day, that was now overwhelming his entire body with the urge that gnawed at him from his skin to his bone. The one he thought he could never give in to.

 

_The only way to let something stay perfect—is to let go before it can be ruined._

 

Harry gave in now.

 

He lurched forward, and he grabbed the other man by the face and turned it around and smushed his mouth against his in a hard, desperate kiss.

 

After a momentary bout of shock, eyes shut in startlement and white-blond eyebrows raised up high, Draco responded, lips parting slightly on the next kiss. His hands tugged him closer by the biceps and then wrapped roughly around his waist, one hand clutching at his cheek to hold him in place. He was snogging him back just as desperately, like he was compelled and couldn't help himself, giving back one open-mouthed kiss after another after another, one kiss, two kisses, three more, tongues pressing tentatively against each other's. Their tilted heads switched to their opposite sides to fit their lips better, noses knocking together and Harry's glasses cutting into the bridge of his nose.

 

Draco broke away with a gasp, pushing him back by the sides of his waist—Harry gripped his hands and kept them right there, overtaken by an overwhelming need for proximity and closeness. He stood up on his knees and threw his legs on either side of Draco's lap in a straddle, as if he could hold him right here and stop him from leaving, from leaving with a terrible finality that could never be reversed, from—

 

"Don't do it," Harry whispered, temple leaned against Draco's, his voice so quiet that neither of them would have heard it if the wind carried it away, soft and sorrowful and breathless from kisses and desperation. His lungs were burning, the back of his eyes and his throat burning too. His quivering hands took his face gently. "Don't do it. Please."

 

Draco only met his eyes silently, red-rimmed and hollow. Harry moved in to kiss him again—

 

"I don't want your pity snog, Potter," he said, quietly, turning his head away to avoid the kiss.

 

"Not pity," Harry murmured, shaking his head, tugging his face back to his own. "I've been wanting to do that for a while now." For all of today. For months, even if he always shook away the thought. He kissed him, once, Draco's head bobbing back from the force of it. He gave a flicker of a wavering smile. "Not being a _git_ git suits you, you know."

 

Draco's silver gaze fixated on him, remaining fixated for a moment. Perhaps he was trying to gauge his honesty.

 

Whatever he saw made his eyes soften. They fell down to Harry's lips, and then to his chin, and then somewhere down past him.

 

Draco swallowed, his red-rimmed eyes glistening. His brows twitched into a doleful frown, chin crumpling, only dangling on the edge of breaking.

 

"I've made up my mind already," he said, softly insistent. "I can't—I can't go back."

 

Harry shook his head, pressing his nose into his snow-blond hair. He swallowed, pressing a kiss to his forehead and wrapping his arms around his neck. "You can go back. You can always go back."

 

Draco shook his head, and his face twisted painfully into the side of Harry's throat, soaked cold and wet. "I don't want to. I have to do this. I can't—I can't _do_ it anymore, I'm just— " He inhaled, and then exhaled out shakily, trying to regain composure. "I just want to sleep. I'm just so fucking tired, so sick of waking up every shitty day to my mind all fucked up and—and always being tired and alone—"

 

"You're not alone, okay? I'm here, aren't I?" Harry leaned back, kissed his face, and pushed his nose to the space between his eyebrows, wishing he had gotten the Gryffindor courage to talk to him a long time ago. "Draco, please."

 

"Don't make this difficult for me," Draco begged, breathless and shaky and crumbling, sounding like he was about to lose all control and composure and break down completely any second. "Please don't make this difficult."

 

Harry kissed him on the mouth, and then kissed his crumpling mouth again, and then kept on burrowing kisses everywhere, to his upper lip, and his bottom lip, and the corner of his lips, and his wet cheeks and jaws and neck and shoulder, blindly and desperately kissing every part of him that he could get his mouth on until Draco fumbled to wrap his arms around him tightly, shoved his face into his shoulder with one hard, gasping sob and then cried and cried and cried. Harry held him tightly by his hitching shoulders and the back of his head and whispered, _I'm here, I'm here, it's okay, I'm right here—_

 

…

 

They had made their way over to the Slytherin common room, where there were far less people to face, and then to Draco's dorm.

 

Draco fell asleep as soon as he climbed into bed, Harry's glasses and both their suits, belts and shoes off, as he curled up in the tangle of Harry's arms against his chest.

 

Harry, on the other hand, didn't sleep all through the night, holding Draco tightly as the thought about what had almost happened kept him awake. He would have chosen to walk away too soon, to return back to his Gryffindor dorms and sleep in contentment through the night, unaware and ignorant that that day and night was the last time he would have ever seen the boy that he had at some point fallen in love with already. He would have woken up the next day to learn that Draco—

 

That Draco was gone. He was gone in the worst and the most final way.

 

That he was dead.

 

He felt sick all over again.

 

At some point through the night, Draco had rolled over in his sleep to his other side, his back to Harry, swathed in covers up to his neck. Harry pulled him closer by the arm around Draco's abdomen, smushing his nose and mouth against his blanketed back. He swallowed down the ache in his throat, stared at the back of his platinum head for a moment, and then closed his eyes, listening closely to his cadenced lilts of soft, deep exhales and inhales in the silence and feeling his back rise and fall with it against his lips.

 

Harry fell asleep somewhere around five in the morning. By the time he woke up, it was nearly twelve.

 

Draco still hadn't woken, his face so close on the pillow to his own that Harry could see his flaxen eyelashes settled against the skin beneath his eyes. Timelessly, he watched him, observing everything of his beauty as the two of them laid buried under blankets up to their shoulders. He visually outlined his cheekbones, much more visible now than they used to be, and the fairness of his skin, and the full, pink lips parted to breathe in his sleep. He reached and traced it all with his fingers, stroking cheek to mouth, thinking of how close he came to never seeing any of it again. His fingers trembled.

 

Moonstone eyes slowly opened, blinking groggily. They met his own after a moment of regaining focus and orientation, blinking again to clear the blur. Harry smiled at him.

 

"Hi," Harry said, hushed, touching his chin, couldn't seem to keep his hands off of him. He let it fall between them on the bed.

 

"Hi," Draco responded in kind, just as hushed, the two of them quietly staring at one another for a moment. He then swallowed, rolling over on his back, and then stared at the ceiling for a moment. He lifted a hand and rubbed at his face. "What… what time is it?"

 

"Probably around half past two," Harry estimated, and then chuckled softly at the surprised, wide-eyed expression on Draco's face as his hand stilled, glancing over at him sharply.

 

"Oh." His eyebrows twitched upward.

 

Harry smiled. It must have been a while since he'd slept that well, and he did look a lot less tired now, but there were still dredges of fatigue left, the kind of fatigue that couldn't go away by a couple hours of sleep. "You must have been exhausted."

 

"That's not what's new." His voice was still a light rasp from slumber. Draco reached out and tentatively tangled his fingers into the spaces between his, almost as if he wasn't sure if it was okay, as if he couldn't entirely believe it happened. Them. Draco's forehead furrowed. "You didn't go for classes?"

 

Harry shook his head, corner of his mouth squinching up.

 

"You don't have to stay," Draco said.

 

Harry didn't think he could _not_ stay after last night. All he wanted right now was to be close to the other boy. "I want to." He shrugged. It wasn't like there would be much consequence anymore. They were adults now.

 

They fell into a comfortable silence then, not letting go of each other's hand.

 

"I'm..." Draco paused, his throat flexing. "I'm sorry."

 

Harry glanced over at him, tightening his fingers around his.

 

It had been terrifying and horrific, when the realization struck him. It had been terrifying to realize that Draco was minutes away from walking into the lake and—and drowning himself, that Harry could have walked away and not known until the next morning just what he had walked away from, that he needed to talk Draco out of it and that he didn't know if he would be enough.

 

He steeled himself for Draco shutting down on what he said next.

 

"We're going to get us a Mind-Healer."

 

Draco didn't freeze, or pull away, or get mad the way Harry expected him to. He just stayed quiet, not looking at Harry, but he also didn't withdraw his hand, so that was a sign of hope that maybe he would be somewhat open to what Harry said.

 

"A lot of people are seeing one, you know? Ron and Hermione did too, for some time. It helped them a lot."

 

"And you?"

 

Harry paused. "I… I didn't feel like it was… for me, you know." He didn't feel worthy of it, of help and of learning to move on, after all the deaths that he felt responsible for. There were people that needed it more, that lost too much because of him, and deserved it too. Even with the ambiguous wording, there was an understanding in the other man's eyes, as if he knew what he really meant.

 

"You should go see one."

 

"Only if you go too."

 

Draco shook his head. "I don't have that kind of money anymore."

 

"That's not for you to worry about. I've got enough of that."

 

Draco sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. "Even so, I doubt they'd want to help a former Death-Eater, Harry." He briefly got stuck on the sound of his first name in his voice, for the first time ever in a way that felt personal and close. "It's not… it can't work. You know that, so just. Just let it go, okay? Please."

 

"If that's so, then they're not good Mind-Healers, are they? And we don't need them. We're going to find you one that knows what they're doing, one that understands that your past doesn't define you." Harry brought their hands up and brushed his lips against Draco's knuckles. He smiled. "But I don't think anyone would ever refuse services to the Chosen One's boyfriend, you know."

 

The look on Draco's face, the flutter of a blink in his eyes from the startlement, before they crinkled slightly from a flicker of a soft smile quirking at his lips, made Harry smile too, thumbing the corner of his mouth.

 

"Yeah?" Harry asked.

 

Draco thought about it for a moment, and then nodded slowly, softly. "Yeah. Okay." Harry smiled and kissed the bumps on the back of his hand.

 

Just then, they both jumped from the sudden and loud rapping at the door, an underlying muffled female voice furiously talking in a low voice—

 

"Ron, we're going to have a _civilised_ conversation with him—" That was Hermione.

 

"COME OUT RIGHT NOW, MALFOY! I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU DID, BUT I KNOW HARRY WENT OUT TO MEET _YOU_ AFTER SCHOOL AND HE HASN'T BEEN FOUND SINCE! HE DIDN'T RETURN LAST NIGHT, HE HASN'T SHOWN UP FOR HIS CLASSES TODAY AND WE HAVE LOOKED _EVERYWHERE—_

 

Fuck. How did they even get in?

 

Harry let go of Draco's hand to bury his face in his palms. He loved them, he really did, and he had vanished for an entire day and night so of _course_ they would be panicking, but right now, as bad as he felt for making them worry, Harry didn't think he could deal with anything—not the questions if Harry opened the door or the freak-outs at whatever answers he would give, and he _certainly_ didn't want Draco to deal with them either.

 

Draco threw him a sympathetic look, clearly showing that he was not even going to bother to try and help. Harry sighed. He didn't want him to, but some effort or pretense would have been nice anyway.

 

Well, he knew what to do, just to at least postpone the questions and the freak-out.

 

Harry pushed up into a sitting position on the bed, feeling Draco watching him. He stretched his arms over his back to clutch at the back of his shirt, pulling it over his shoulders and head and off of his body. He tossed it aside on a chair in front of the desk.

 

He caught Draco's eyes, who roved them over his body with an appreciative quirk of his lips. Harry huffed out a shy grin, shaking his head.

 

"—MALFOY, OPEN THIS FUCKING DOOR RIGHT NOW BEFORE I HEX IT OFF—"

 

Harry stood up and crossed the short distance between him and the door. He gripped the door knob and twisted, flinging it open, hiding his lower half behind the door.

 

"HARRY? OH THANK GOD—wait... what." Ron stared at him for a long moment. His face scrunched up. "Harry?"

 

"Um. Hi guys." He nodded at them in greeting.

 

Ron stared at him some more. He blinked. Beside him, Hermione's eyes were widened, her cheeks red. Clearly, she had caught on much faster.

 

"What are you—why—" Ron frowned even harder, gesturing confusedly at him. "Shirtless? Why in Malfoy's—"

 

"Um. Look, we'll talk later, okay? We're just, uh… we're kinda in the middle of...something."

 

"Yeah, okay. Uh, Ron?" Hermione was gripping him by the biceps and trying to drag him away, but Ron was still stuck to his spot, struggling to process what was happening as he stared at Harry, a wrinkle in his forehead.

 

"Harry," Draco drawled. "Come back to bed, darling."

 

Ron's eyes grew rounded, darting between the general direction of Draco's voice and Harry. " _What_?" he squeaked out, his voice trembling.

 

"We'll, uh… we'll see you later. Harry." Hermione smiled tightly, awkwardly, at Harry, grabbed Ron by the arm and hauled him away forcefully.

 

When they were gone, Harry shut the door with a low click.

 

He turned around and stared at Draco. Draco was burrowed under the covers, hiding half of his face to conceal his smile under it, platinum tuft of hair peeking out.

 

Harry bit back the laugh seizing his throat. "Did you have to make it worse for him?"

 

Draco's visible grey eyes crinkled against the weariness of them. He shrugged. "He wasn't getting it."

 

Harry made his way over, climbed onto the bed on one knee and leaned over Draco, arms outstretched on either side of his head. He took in the smile on the other boy's face with a soft one of his own, wanting nothing more than to keep it there, to make him keep smiling and laughing whenever he could, especially after how long it had been until yesterday since he had. He craned his head down to kiss Draco's lips, gentle and pliant and parted slightly under his own as he kissed him back.

 

When they broke away, ending on a soft peck, Harry dropped down beside him, slid his arms under the covers and wrapped them around Draco's slim waist, scooting closer to push their foreheads together.

 

"We're going to be okay," Harry said softly.

 

The road to recovery wasn't going to be easy, but looking into the moonstone eyes staring back into his own with tentative faith and trust, he knew there wasn't anything else he could believe.

 

**FIN**

 

 


End file.
